“Okay, he might exist in the ethereal sense, but he can’t
manifest himself in the real world … can he?”

Felicity gave him a worried look. “I don’t know, but I have
to go.”

“Go where?”

“The copse, midsummer’s eve, at midnight.”

“That’s tomorrow.”

“I know.”

Felicity shuddered.

***

“What time is it?” Felicity whispered as they moved deeper
into the woods.

Scott used the torch to look at his watch. “Two minutes to
twelve. What’s that?”

They saw a strange light coming through the foliage, and headed
towards it.

When they arrived in the clearing, the angel was there.

He was magnificent, just as Felicity had dreamed. His chest was
bare, though the angelic wings wrapped around him made him appear draped in
soft finery. He seemed tall, and the light green glow surrounding him accentuated
it. His bright eyes pierced hers.

“Hello Felicity.”

His voice rumbled deep within her, awakening feelings and
desires she’d never experienced before. A longing to touch him overwhelmed her.
She stepped closer.

“Hello Zelus.”

He eyed Scott.

“Who is your companion?”

“This is my husband Scott.”

“Husband?” Zelus’ brow creased. “Are you tied to another?”

“Well I wouldn’t say tied …”

“We’ve been married for several years.” Scott interjected. Zelus
ignored him.

“Felicity, I asked you to meet me, to join me. We are
soulmates. We have been for centuries – it has taken me two to find you. You can
not stay with this mate.”

“Hold on a minute–” Scott began.

“Felicity please, you know it to be true.” Zelus’ right wing
opened and he proffered a hand.

Felicity felt a pull in her gut. She knew he spoke the
truth. “But Zelus, I can’t. I’m not like you, I’m mortal, human.”

Zelus smiled, a laugh leaving him like the sound of distant
thunder. “Felicity, you are spirit, we all are. You simply need to take my
hand. Come.”

Felicity hovered, her hand coming up.

“Felicity!” Scott shouted.

She glanced back at Scott.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry Scott, but I …” When Felicity’s hand met Zelus’ there
was only bright white light and his face. She was home.

Thursday, 9 July 2015

Another word prompt from Five Sentence Fiction that I couldn't miss. And I tried to take a less conventional route with it, delivering a different kind of theft, which resulted in me providing a different picture too, as the other didn't seem as appropriate.

By Vincent Van Gogh

Emptiness consumed Abigail as she sat on the side of the
bed, staring at the wall, not daring to look down at her thoroughly washed body
and feel the disgust again.

She tried hard to argue the voices in her head that told her
this wasn’t her doing, that she hadn’t deserved it, and had done nothing wrong,
but they weren’t easily quelled; she had invited him in after all, and wanted to
sleep with him – it’s what she’d angling for every time she’d seen him out at
the club.

But something had gone wrong half way through; something he
had muttered in her ear in the midst of it making it clear it meant nothing to
him, turning it cold and meaningless as though she was just providing a
service.

And although in that moment she had pushed it away and
carried on, the following morning when he had woken and leapt out of bed,
dressing and vanishing inside of a minute, claiming he was late to meet some
friends, Abigail had known she’d allowed herself to be used and violated.

Two baths later and she fought those feelings, beginning to
rock gently back and forth to comfort herself, and tell herself that no-one had
managed to steal a part of her soul, she was better than that.

Monday, 6 July 2015

I had to write for last week's Mid-Week Blues-Buster as the song had to be captured in writing. But as I struggled with how I wanted to end it, I didn't expect it to get ranked, let alone win!! It has made my Monday morning! Hope you enjoy it.

Song prompt:

Rehab, by Amy Winehouse.

Annabelle giggled as she stood up, and attempted to make her
way through the crowd that seemed to have magically formed in the tiny club.
How long had she been here? She didn’t know anymore … and didn’t really care.
She pushed through a group of guys and staggered as one pushed back. Her laugh was
cut short by the pain of her bony hip hitting a pillar. She growled and shook a
fist at the pillar, causing the guys to laugh. She laughed with them and
continued to move towards the toilets.

She fixed her eyes on the door and made a beeline for it.
She remembered being twirled around at one point, and she was sure someone put
a hand up her skirt, but before she knew it she was staring into the dimly lit
mirror in the toilets, trying to focus on her reflection.

She ignored the bags under her eyes, and how her cheeks had sunken
into her jaw line, while she attempted to tidy up the lipstick that had smeared
during the last line of coke. She wasn’t sure if she improved it, but it wasn’t
important; what was, was the rock she had just scored. She pulled it out of the
tiny pocket in her tiny skirt, and held it up between thumb and forefinger. She
licked her lips. This could finally do it!

She reached into her other pocket for her little foldable
pipe and lighter. Then, taking a surreptitious look round the toilets to make
sure no one had seen her, she lurched into one of the cubicles and banged the
door shut, fumbling with the lock to secure it.

She pushed the little rock into the pipe bowl, imagining the
rush before she’d even brought the lighter up to it, and fell back onto the
toilet seat once she did.

When she woke, Annabelle cracked open an eye, but
immediately closed it again due to a harsh white light that glared down from
the ceiling. She tried to move her hand up to shield her eyes, but found it tied
down. Another peep revealed wrist straps tying it to the side of a metal bed.

“Morning Annabelle. How are you feeling?”

She didn’t recognise the voice, and wasn’t going to risk
opening her eyes again – the pain of the light was too much. She tried to ask her
own question, but gagged instead.

“Easy honey, don’t try to speak, we need to take you
intubation tube out first. Come, help me sit you up and breathe out hard as I
pull, okay?”

An arm came round her back and Annabelle felt herself being
lifted.

“One, two three, and blow hard!”

Annabelle did, feeling something hard drag along her throat,
reducing her to a coughing fit.

“It’s okay honey, drink this and it’ll feel better.”

This time Annabelle opened her eyes and squinted at a paper
cup being handed to her. She took a sip and managed to croak, “Where am I?”

“You’re in the Mount
View rehabilitation
hospital.”

“How did I get here?”

“You were brought in by your family after you were
resuscitated by paramedics two days ago.”

“Resuscitated?”

“Yep. You OD’ed I understand. You were found unconscious in
a toilet in a club. For a while they weren’t sure they would make it. You’re
lucky to be here.”

Annabelle groaned.

“You hurting, honey?”

Annabelle nodded, a tear running down her face.

“Where’s the pain?”

Annabelle tapped her chest on the left, and mumbled, “My
heart.”

The nurse checked her pulse. “Is it a sharp pain?”

“It’s broken.”

“What?” The nurse was looking at her watch, counting.

“They know I didn’t want to come here, but they brought me
anyway.”

“They care about you, honey.”

“No, they don’t. They only care about their ‘good name’. Daddy’s
little girl can’t be seen to be on drugs.”

More tears tumbled down Annabelle’s face. She looked down at
herself, the bag of bones she had become, and then at the wrist braces holding
her. If only they had left her just a little big longer, it would be over. Now
she had to start all over again.

Wednesday, 1 July 2015

For this Horror Bites Challenge I provided the photo, so I knew I had to come up with something special. And after reading some of the other entries the pressure was on, and the story slowly unfolded in my mind. It went very dark, and the punchline gave me chills. Hope it works for you too.

Emmaline pulled the chains harder, trying to reach the
window, leaning over as far as she could, feeling the coarse metal cuffs cut
into her wrists. She could only make out the tops of the trees, but it was
enough for her to recognise where she was.

She’d been fascinated by the tower for years, photographing
it every time she passed, and then getting bolder as it became more derelict by
squeezing through a break in the wire fence to get closer shots. She knew when
she had found the sinkholes that it had been a mistake, but she had always been
the curious type. So had he it seemed.

She gave up trying to see any more and retreated back to the
chair. She sat on it – the wood of the seat as bare as she was, and pulled up her
knees, clasping them tightly as she wondered when he would be back, trying not
to allow her mind to rest on what he might do when he did.

She thought she heard a scuff of feet below and held her
breath. The dusty disused circular room reflected the silence as she strained
to hear anything more. Then there was a clink, and she knew.

Her stomach felt like it had dropped into her naval, and her
bowels loosened. She resisted the urge to urinate. She started rocking as the footsteps
grew louder; the scuffing sound on each step working like a ratchet in her
brain, turning it tighter, so that by the time they arrived outside the door
she was giving off a low moan to try and release the pressure.

The door swung open and there he stood – all smiles. Her
eyes flitted to the tubing in one hand and the bucket in the other, not missing
the assortment of metal implements poking out the top. Her moan escalated into
a high pitched whine, and then a scream as he walked towards her.